What ties a Father and His Daughter
by Secretly a Duck
Summary: Every teenager goes through the swing of moods of unpredictability, rebellion, and thoughts that freedom is more important than anything with a fickle mind without the thought for family. And sometimes, some apologies are too late. Modern AU!One-shot


**hi everyone. so i just realized that it's been a while since i've written a one-shot, so here you go; a fic that's not about romance for once! yay! though this isn't exactly my forte, i tried. sorry if i got the protrayal of the characters wrong, this is my first time writing for brave. enjoy!**

* * *

"Ya just don't understand!" Merida screamed back as her throat swelled with the words she spilled out, slamming the door right up her father's face, making Fergus' face a minute filled with fathers rage suddenly twist in grimace. His shoulders sagged, face solemn, hurt, and looked down to his feet as the sound of Merida's footsteps trod around her room eventually end as a loud _thump_, knowing she had slumped her face up her pillow and melted into a sob. He lifts his fist up, and when he was just about to knock, he pushes the idea far away in the back of his head as he begins to walk away, head low and discouraged. After all, he didn't want to wake Harris, Hubert, and Hamish to another drama session he was having with his 18 year-old daughter.

So he's left back to the idea of another night trying to sleep through her daughter's sobs instead.

* * *

Two days.

Two bloody days have passed since the big father-daughter fit had happened. And Merida hasn't come out of her room since. She's abstained from eating even her favorite tart tops, missed out on her favorite sports shows, and even left Angus all cooped up in his barn without the sweet love of his owner.

Fergus slammed his mug at the coffee table, frustrated as ever. This was worse than all their other fights.

"Fergus!" Elinor, his middle-aged wife snapped at him from the stove. He sighed.

"Sorry," he mumbled, worry still creased in his eyebrows. He was about to leave in a few days, and everything in their house was still left in chaos. This isn't how a father should keep his family together, and this isn't how a daughter is supposed to retort to her father.

He hears his wife mimic his guttural sigh. "I know you're upset about Merida," Elinor resigns herself from the dishes and the burning stove to grab a seat next to her tense husband. She grasps his hand. "But you have to understand her too, she's a lady now. Well, at least trying to."

"Understand?!" he shot, suddenly meeting her gaze. "How can I understand when my daughter is going wild and crazy like all the youth today? Elinor, I can't let her be like them. She's different. If she'd just listen she'd understand that I just worry about her!" he exploded, all the brick walls of fatherly strength melts into affection. His worry for his daughter comes to light.

She smiles. "Then maybe you should listen to her, too. Maybe you'll understand."

He moves his lips to retort, but it hits him like a dagger in daylight. His wife has always been strict, but after a small incident with Merida, everything changed. Maybe he was just being a hothead because of all the stress that was coming along with work recently, and he bows his head and watches his wife circle the skin of his tough hands.

He blinks. "Okay, okay. I'll try."

* * *

Fergus hauled the suitcase strolling behind him, trying to block all the bites and scratches of his sons, Hamish plucking at his brow, Hubert circling his waist, and Harris biting at his ankles as he laughed heartily before settling the three of them back on the ground.

"Boys, find your ma. I think she made tarts," he gives them kisses on the cheeks and they were off. Just like that.

As he straightens his tie and his suit, he realizes he's at the doorstep of his only daughter, Merida. He musters the courage to dare and knock.

"Merida?" he called, voice shaky. He waits, no reply.

"Merida," he calls again. Still nothing. "Merida, I know you're still upset about not being able to go to Astrid's wrestling match… and I'm sorry I didn't allow you to participate in the year's biggest archery match and I—" he sighs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I mean… give me time? To understand you more. I know me and your mother is kind of outdated with the youth, I mean, with our style and the way we talk and our music and—" he stops and he thinks that maybe she's not listening to him at all. "I'm sorry."

And with that, he walks away.

* * *

"Merida?" Elinor knocks on her daughter's door. "Merida, love, I know you're in there."

The sound of videogames from inside stop, still no answer.

"Merida, I brought tarts."

After a few dull moments, the door flings open. She smiles.

"Okay, either you're here to _just_ deliver pop tarts or use them as bait or as a peace offering," she pouted, wearing a faded shirt Elinor swore she's been wearing for the past few days without really taking a shower. The springing red hair erupting from her head still the same. "What's the jig?"

"Nothing, I swear dear," she laughed, balancing the plate in hand before giving into her daughter's accusation. "Alright, maybe I did bring this as a peace offering. Or a little bit of both."

Her mother had the vague feeling she'd slam the door in her face, but instead cracked a smile. "S'alright. As long as it's not pa."

This time, her smile drops. "Merida—"

"I know, ya want to talk about pa. Come on in," she said as she made a grab for the plate and swiftly turned her heel back into her room. Her mother followed inside obediently.

"So, what about him?" Merida asked nonchalantly, plopping on her bed and turning the television off before devouring the tart on her lap. Elinor sat across her on her desk.

"Merida, I want you to know that your father's sorry."

"I know."

"No, Merida," Elinor pressed. "I mean, really sorry. Not just sorry because he failed to understand you for something you wanted so badly, especially now that you're eighteen. He's so sorry, Merida. Like the way you were back then when I the doctors mistook that I had terminal illness in the hospital and you thought I was going to die? _That_ sorry."

Merida stopped her grumbling for once, something deep had struck her. Her mother's words hung in the air, and slowly, guilt began to pool in the pit of her stomach.

"Mum, please don't use the word die…"

"Fine, lose. You thought you were going to lose me."

"But I didn't."

"Yes, you didn't. But you might lose _him_," her mother's eyes were soft and understanding, and she slowly moved out of her seat to her knees at the foot of her head, taking her daughter's hands gingerly in hers. She was being delicate on the subject, since the thought of it or the mere idea of it made her cringe and mildly uncomfortable. She forced a smile, trying to meet her gaze.

Merida's eyes drop to her half eaten tart, appetite lost. Her shoulders grew tense, her face frozen with the shock of the blow of her mother's words, and her heart sinking deeper and deeper into her chest. She released a breath she didn't know she's been holding for so long when Elinor squeezes her hand, snapping her back into reality.

She bit her lip before finally giving in.

"…fine," she said, sighing.

* * *

"Oh, hi dad! I'm so glad you're back in one piece. Whoa is that a new battle scar? That's really badass—or should I say, _rad_? Get it?—_ugh_!" Merida groaned in frustration, slapping both hands to her face. She's been practicing how she was going to face up to her father for the longest time—fifteen minutes— and she already felt like giving up. She couldn't seem to shake off the awkward feeling and how her hands fidgeted as she talked. It's been too long since the last time they even spoke to each other. She couldn't even remember.

She gathers her breath before she began again. "'Sup dad? Or should I say The Bear King? I know I was all stubborn and hotheaded back then, but I'm sorry, okay. I was just wondering if you'd like to go ball or something? And not going to Astrid's fight was okay, or Anna's birthday party—I swear! I just want…" her chest heaved, before savagely shaking her head and collapsing on her bed. She wanted nothing more than to disappear, hoping her sea of pillows would engulf her into a better world, another dimension where everything was fine.

"…I just want things to go back the way they were," she murmured to herself and sobbed.

* * *

Today's the day.

Victory was all over the news, friends and acquaintances have called in how their own husbands and sons were safe and how proud they were of them, invitations to parties and celebrations were going all around.

Elinor was cooking up all their favorites for the special occasion: turkey, beef, tarts, cake—you name it. The delicious aroma of gravy and burning delicacies was warm in the air, and it made Merida's stomach grumble and almost made her mouth water right there. But she had to stop herself—she was a lady after all, or so her mother thinks. And plus, she needed to be the adult around the dinning table. Especially with her brothers snapping at everything like hungry koi fish waiting to be fed without even starting yet.

After scolding Hamish from drinking out of the milk bottle, chastising Hubert for devouring the turkey legs, and dragging Harris off from the table when he began drooling all over their plates to clean up—the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Merida beamed, a little to enthusiastic than she meant and already bolted out of the room before Elinor even got to poke her head in the dinning room.

Her heart was racing, her mind was filled with excitement and so many thoughts she thought she was going to burst, and despite all of this it sends her in a rush of worry that her father wouldn't accept her apology. But he will, he always will. She'll apologize, he'll accept, they'll weep in each other's arms—like in some drama movie they watched and laughed at back then. Just like good times.

When she reaches the door, all the things she's been meaning to say spills out of her mouth so fast she doesn't notice how excited she really is.

"Dad! It's so good that you're back from the war! I know it this took me forever to tell you but I'm sorry and—"

He wasn't there.

But a flag came back instead.

Her chest clenched, her face fell, and her heart took the blow of reality as she slowly, slowly, dropped to her knees, feeling a tear stream down her cheek.

* * *

**don't ask about why fergus died or any other questions. idk why i even wrote this... haha. review?**


End file.
